JOY = PAIN
ECSTASY = DEATH
POWER = HATE
The closer you get to the real thing, the stronger the pull of the opposite force becomes. It feels like they are trying to kill you. Like they (white people, men, etc.) actually want you dead. They want to take you out at the fucking knees. YES YOU HURT ME. I thought you were my fucking friend.
The feeling of mastery. The keys underhand. The end zone dance. Serena’s crip walk. The swan song of a ballet dancer. The moment when you nail it. What if it brings you the most joy possible? What if you touch god but that also means your death? The higher you soar, the more you are punished. Challenged. Attacked. Persecuted. Shamed.
“It explores the utopian longings and the promise of a future world that resided in waywardness and the refusal to be governed.”
“In this other life, she would not be required to take all the shit that no one else would accept and pretend to be grateful.”
— Saidiya Hartman
